Ghosts on a Snowy Night
by Morganperidot
Summary: Oliver and Laurel have an unplanned meeting on a snowy Christmas Eve that develops into something more.
1. Chapter 1

Ghosts on a Snowy Night

By Morganperidot

It didn't usually snow in Starling City, but tonight it was.

It was dusk on Christmas Eve, and the snow was beginning to fall more heavily, making the city feel temporarily clean with its unblemished white coating. Oliver Queen was on a mission, but not one as his hooded vigilante archer. He found a parking spot a couple blocks from his destination and headed there on foot. His long dark coat, boots, and scarf kept the cold at bay, but nothing could protect him from the pain in his heart. No matter what progress he made on his father's book of names, he wasn't satisfied, because he could not make amends to the one person with whom he most wanted to set things right. His ability to fix things with Laurel had been lost forever in the dark waters where her sister had drowned.

Despite his time on the island, Oliver's memories of his relationship with Laurel remained crystal clear and razor sharp. He had made more mistakes with her than he could name – more than she should have forgiven – due to his own selfishness and stupidity. Life was just a game to him then, with all the money and time in the world do whatever he wanted. She had given him a love he hadn't appreciated or understood, not until much later, when it had slipped through his fingers like the sand on the island's beaches. And now she was with Tommy, and Oliver was alone – and knew that was what his past behavior deserved.

But he had still slipped out of the Christmas party at the Queen mansion and gone in search of a piece of the past, ghosts on a snowy night, something to fill the deep hole inside of him if only for a moment.

He pushed open the door to the small Italian restaurant, and stepped out of the biting wind. He glanced at the tables and saw that they were mostly empty; one couple sat in a booth with a large cheese pizza and a carafe of red wine on the table between them. Oliver walked over to the dessert counter – and stopped dead in his tracks. The person ahead of him wrapped in a long royal blue coat was requesting a dozen cannoli, and Oliver recognized her without question. She received her box and then turned and faced him, and Oliver saw his own shock reflected back in Laurel's eyes.

"Oliver," she said finally, and he stood there speechless for several seconds, the memory of the two of them there together buying cannoli so many years ago colliding with the present moment to temporarily jam the gears in his brain.

"Hey," he said finally, unable to come up with anything more sensible.

"Isn't there a party at the Queen mansion tonight?" Laurel asked.

"Yeah," Oliver said. "I just…needed to get out."

"I'm not surprised," Laurel said, and Oliver wasn't sure how she meant that. "I did too – needed to get out," she said, seeming uncomfortable as she tried to hold the box out of view.

"Is Tommy here?" Oliver asked.

"No, we…we were together earlier," Laurel said vaguely. "Look, I should…"

"Do you have a few minutes?" Oliver asked. Before she could respond, he said, "Just enough time for one cannoli. I'll pay you for it."

Laurel smiled. "OK," she said, "a few minutes." She turned and walked over to a table in the corner of the restaurant. Oliver glanced at the window and saw that the snow was coming down harder. He remembered snuggling with Laurel in front of a fire during a blizzard. Oliver sighed and pushed that image aside before joining her at the table. The box of cannoli was between them; she opened it.

"Thank you," Oliver said, taking one. "I was serious about paying…"

"That isn't necessary," Laurel said.

Oliver smiled. "OK," he said. He took a bite of cannoli – and it was still as good as he remembered. All those years ago, it had been his idea for them to go there that first time in the snow. He was surprised to find that she would want to go there now on her own. "How are things with Tommy?"

"You know I should say that's none of your business," Laurel said.

"But you won't?" Oliver said. He opened his coat and relaxed a little. He just hoped there wasn't going to be a need for the archer tonight – or for Oliver Queen to whip out some fancy fighting moves for that matter. He could use a night off.

Laurel sighed. "Things are complicated among the three of us," she said. "I understand that."

Oliver looked in her eyes and saw how much she wanted him to just go along with this statement the same way he had just gone along with similar statements since he found out she and Tommy were an item – but this time he couldn't do that. "Actually, it's simple," he said quietly. "I miss you, Laurel. I miss us."

"There can't be an us, Oliver," she said. "You know that. "

Oliver had second thoughts – and even third thoughts – but he decided not to back down. "You don't miss us?" he asked.

"I missed us when you were sleeping with my sister," Laurel said coolly.

"That was a long time ago," Oliver said. "And if I could…"

"My sister is gone forever because of your selfishness, Oliver," Laurel said fiercely. "She's dead because of you." He looked away at the snow. "I don't want to say these things to you," Laurel continued without the steely edge in her voice of a moment earlier. "I know you regret it, but what happened when you took her on that boat with you can't be fixed," she said. After a pause she added, "We can't be fixed."

Oliver looked back at her and what he saw didn't convince him that she really meant what she was saying. "I don't believe that," he said.

"I know you're unhappy, Oliver," Laurel said. "And I'm sorry about that. That isn't what I want, believe me. You need to find someone else..."

"Like you found Tommy?" Oliver asked, adding quickly, "Do you love him?"

"I care about him..."

"Do you feel about him the way you felt about me?" Oliver asked.

"Oliver, that…"

"I still love you," Oliver admitted.

"Don't say that," Laurel said.

"Why not?" Oliver pressed, because he was already so far over the edge there was no point in stopping. "If I say that is it going to make you finally tell me the truth? Are you going to tell me why you came here tonight or why you always have that look in you eyes when…"

"Stop it," Laurel spit at him. "Do you think you're the only one hurting? You don't care, do you? I thought you changed on that island, but you are still the same selfish bastard you always were." She stood and grabbed the cannoli box.

"Laurel…"

"Good-bye, Oliver," Laurel said, and without another word she left the restaurant. After a minute Oliver followed. He stood there in the swirling snow for a moment, but then he heard the sounds of a car not starting. He walked toward the noise and found Laurel in her car continuing to trying in vain to get it going. He knocked on the window. She waved him off but he didn't move. Finally she lowered the window. "Go away, Oliver," she said.

"Let me drive you home," he said.

"I'd rather freeze to death," Laurel said. She reached to put the window back up, but before she could, he pushed the button to unlock the doors and yanked the driver's side door open. "Come with me," he said. She tried to pull the door closed but he stood in the way. So she got out and tried to physically push him out of the way, but Oliver would not be deterred; he grabbed her – and pulled her close to him, bringing his lips to hers in a forceful kiss – one that lasted a few moments longer than he expected it to before she shoved him away and delivered a painful slap to his face. "You son of a bitch," she said. "You are just the worst kind of person. All you do is take advantage…"

He moved closer and pressed her against the car, his body burning up despite the freezing air around them. He brought his lips to her ear. "If I'm going to be accused of taking advantage, then I may as well do it," he said. He kissed her neck, his hands on her body, and she was…surprisingly silent and nonresistant. His brain was melting; he needed to have her. He needed to know that she wanted him too…

"Oliver," Laurel said, her voice quiet. He looked at her face then and was surprised to see the tears there.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, suddenly feeling the bitter December air around him like a cold shower. He stepped back from her and tried to pull his scattered thoughts back together. The snow was falling like crazy now, and Oliver felt disoriented in a way he hadn't in a long time.

She pulled him back against her warmth, and he felt his own eyes sting. "We need to get out of here," she said. He understood what she said, but he couldn't do anything about it other than hold onto her the way she was holding onto him. He felt himself teetering on the brink of some sort of posttraumatic moment; despite the certain knowledge of where he was he could see the dark water and the island and feel the torture that had left his strong body forever scarred. "Oliver, look at me," Laurel said, and her voice was distant, like an echo. He felt himself fading out…

"Oliver!" Laurel shouted at him, and he heard it with shocking clarity, which was enough to make him meet her gaze. "Do you hear me?" she asked.

Oliver felt the fog begin to clear. "Yes," he said.

"What day is it?" Laurel asked.

"I'm fine…"

"Answer the question," Laurel said.

"Christmas Eve 2012," Oliver said. "OK?"

"OK," Laurel said. "Let's find your car." Oliver led her directly to where his car was parked, but when they got there she stopped him from opening the door. "Give me the keys," she said.

"Honestly, Laurel, I'm fine," Oliver said. He was telling the truth; his mind was sharp again. But he could see that she wasn't going to take his word for it, so he decided to just hand over the keys. "Be careful," he said. "This car is expensive." He turned to go to the passenger seat, and felt Laurel grasp his hand.

"Oliver," she said.

He looked at her. "I'm OK," he said.

"You're not," Laurel said. "There was something in your eyes back there. Something different – something lost."

"I'll be fine," Oliver said. I have to be, he thought. He pulled his hand from her grasp – reluctantly – and got into the car on the passenger side. Laurel hesitated a moment and then got into the driver's side and started the car. Oliver fiddled with the radio as she drove, finally settling on one of the stations playing holiday songs. "Why did you go there tonight?" he asked.

"For cannoli," Laurel said.

Oliver looked out the window. He no longer felt like pushing this issue; instead he just let the car be silent other than the radio and closed his eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep and was surprised that when that Laurel woke him the car was stopped in the garage of her building. They got out, and he walked over to her and held out his hand for the keys.

"I think you should stay here tonight," Laurel said.

"I don't need to do that," Oliver said. "Just give me the keys."

"You don't want to stay?" Laurel said.

"I don't want to play this game," Oliver said. He reached for her hand that held the keys.

"You wanted to play before," Laurel said, stepping back from his grasp. Oliver turned away. "What are you afraid of now?" she asked.

Oliver looked back at her. "I'm not afraid," he said. "I'm just tired. And being played is different than playing."

"You should know," Laurel said.

The words were like salt in his old, unhealed wounds. "Give me the keys, Laurel," he said.

"Take them," Laurel said.

Oliver realized she was pushing him now, and he didn't understand why. Did she really just want to be cruel? He leaned against his car and said nothing – did nothing – just let the moment slow down. It was an uncommon thing for him to do in his new life, because he wasn't good with patience anymore. The silence and stillness of this moment disturbed him more than anything had since he'd come back home. It felt like loss and defeat; it felt like weakness. But he wasn't going to be drawn into a battle he couldn't win; he had to know better than that. He had to know when to just wait it out.

"You're not the same, are you?" Laurel said. "Sometimes you pretend that you are, but you're not; it's just a character you're playing." Oliver didn't respond. "What happened on that island – it did change you," she said.

"I'm the same Oliver Queen," he said.

"You used to be a better liar," Laurel said. She walked over to him, up close to him. His body responded to the close proximity with an urgent need to touch her, but he resisted it. She pushed his coat open and put her hands against his gray sweater, where it covered his scars, and then lifted the material and touched his skin. His physical response was powerful and agonizing, worse than being shot with an arrow. Laurel put the keys on the top of the car and then took his face in her hands and kissed him softly, tenderly, and far too briefly. "Come upstairs, Oliver," she said. "I have a present for you."

Oliver looked at the keys, then back at her, and thought about the exercise equipment waiting in the dark and his father's book closed and locked in a drawer. He had made a promise to his father and to the city, and it was one he would keep no matter what stood in the way. He picked up the keys and slid them into his coat pocket. But like Diggle had told him more than once, there were times that promise could wait. "Show me," he said, and they headed toward the entrance to her building.


	2. Chapter 2

Ghosts on a Snowy Night: Part 2

By Morganperidot

Laurel opened the door of her apartment and let Oliver walk in ahead of her before closing the door behind them. She set the box of cannoli on a table and took off her coat and hung it in the closet before smoothing out the long forest green sweater that hung over the top of her blue jeans. When she turned she saw Oliver was just standing there looking at her, parts of his own dark coat glistening with the moisture of melted snow. "Are you OK?" she asked, remembering his strange spell on the street in front of the Italian place where they had accidently met on that snowy Christmas Eve. He had kissed her passionately at her car and then gone glassy-eyed and zoned out when she confronted him about it. Her car hadn't wanted to start so they had taken his – with her driving. And when they arrived at her garage she had been the one who kissed him before inviting him upstairs to see his Christmas present – a couple or reckless decisions she was now having second thoughts about. After all, where had she thought this was going to lead? She wasn't sure, but she knew where she wanted to go probably wasn't the best direction.

"Yeah, fine," Oliver said. He slid off his dark coat; underneath it he wore an expensive-looking gray suit. "I feel a little overdressed," he said.

"Yeah?" Laurel asked, teasing gently.

"You know what I mean," Oliver said. "The whole suit thing was for the party back at the house. I'd much rather be in something more comfortable."

"Really?" Laurel said.

Oliver's lips curled in a slight smile. "Yeah, really," he said. "Do you mind if I take off the jacket and tie?"

"No, go ahead," Laurel said. "You can put them in the closet and then come in the kitchen for a glass of wine."

"OK," Oliver said.

Laurel went into the kitchen…and immediately spotted the two glasses that she and Tommy had used earlier in the day – and the present he had given her, still in its small black velvet box. She shoved the box into a drawer and put the glasses in the dishwasher. Then she picked out a nice bottle of pinot noir and took down two more glasses from one of the cabinets.

"Where is Tommy tonight?" Oliver asked as he entered the kitchen. Laurel glanced at him as she reached for a corkscrew. "That isn't really a personal question, is it?" Oliver continued.

"He had something he needed to do," Laurel said. She opened the hood on the wine and removed it from the bottle.

"On Christmas Eve," Oliver said.

"He was here earlier," Laurel said. "We had a drink and exchanged presents." She picked up the corkscrew from where it was lying on the counter.

"Let me do that," Oliver said as he walked over to her. Laurel handed him the corkscrew. Oliver was close enough again that she could smell his aftershave; it was something warm and spicy that made her think of apple cider and cold nights snuggled together. "Is he coming back?" Oliver asked.

"No," Laurel said, picking up the wine glasses. Oliver easily pulled the cork out, and he poured the ruby liquid into the glasses as she held one in each hand. He set the bottle down on the counter and took the glass she held out to him with her left hand.

Oliver raised his glass. "To a beautiful, snowy Christmas Eve, cannoli, wine, and presents," he said. He lowered his glass, and Laurel clinked it with hers before sipping the smooth, warm wine.

"Not bad," Oliver said.

Laurel laughed softly. "Thanks for the glowing approval," she said. Of course he knew the best wines and had bought them regularly when they were together. "It's Starling City's finest vintage," she said.

"I'm sure it is," Oliver said with a smile.

Laurel rolled her eyes and set her glass down on the counter. "Come with me," she said. She led him to the bedroom and went to the closet, pulled the door open, and reached for the small gift wrapped in gold paper on the shelf. When she turned, Laurel found Oliver very close to her once again, and her heart was pounding hard as she looked into his blue eyes.

"Is that for me?" Oliver asked.

"What?" Laurel asked.

"The present in your hand," Oliver said.

"Right, yes," Laurel said, handing it to him.

"I feel like a bum," Oliver said. "I don't have anything for you."

Laurel looked at him in silence for a moment, weighing whether she wanted to say what she was thinking; she decided she did. "You're alive, Oliver," she said.

"You told me…"

"That you should have been the one who died rather than my sister," Laurel said. She sighed. "I didn't mean that," she said. "I wish with everything that my sister were here, but I wouldn't wish that on you."

Oliver glanced away and was silent for a long moment. "Thanks," he said finally.

"You're welcome," Laurel said. She looked at the box he held in his hands and remembered buying what was inside it all those years ago in a store selling Native American gifts. Somehow what she had found something that seemed right for him. "I got this for you before…you went off on that trip," she said. "I was going to give it to you for Christmas that year."

Oliver looked at the box. "I'm surprised you kept it that long," he said.

"I'm not really sure why I did," Laurel said, "but I want you to have it."

"Thanks," Oliver said. He ripped off the gold paper. Then he lifted the lid of the box and looked at what was inside. She saw shock in his eyes when he looked back at her. "Why would you get me this?" he asked.

Laurel thought of the gift, and remembered it hanging in the store, giving off sparks of sexy masculinity and strength. She had thought of him wearing it around his neck against his bare chest, and it had just seemed so right. "You don't have to take it," she said.

"I want it," Oliver said quickly.

He was silent for a long minute, and Laurel had no idea what he was thinking. She wondered why would he react so strangely to an arrowhead necklace. And then her thoughts strayed to arrows and the hooded vigilante archer, the one who had started his "work" not long after Oliver had returned from the island. "Oliver…"

"Would you put it on me?" he asked, holding the box out to her.

Laurel looked at him standing there, and she told herself no, this is Oliver Queen the rich playboy. She knew this man; he wasn't the type to take a quiver of arrows and go out at night looking to strike fear into evildoers. That was ridiculous. He was just an ordinary man, nothing more. "Sure," she said, taking the box from him. She lifted the necklace and looked at the arrowhead amulet made out of hematite, smooth and simple, yet somehow pristinely perfect. It was hung on black cord with a silver clasp in the back. Laurel opened the clasp. "You're sure you…"

"Yes," Oliver said.

He turned his back to her, and Laurel put it around his neck, her fingers lightly brushing against his warm skin as she did the clasp. I've missed you, she thought, but she didn't say it – mostly because he'd already said he missed her too. She had felt it in the kisses they had shared, that urgent desire to reconnect. But it was too late for that, too late to take him in her arms and into her bed, too late to really honestly and openly forgive him. He turned around, and she straightened the amulet against his strong chest where it looked as good as she had imagined.

"How does it look?" Oliver asked.

Laurel smiled. "Good," she said. "It suits you."

"Yeah?" Oliver said. He put his hand over it, one finger touching to tip.

"Oliver," Laurel said, hesitating a moment before continuing. "Do you know anything about the hooded vigilante – the archer?"

"Why would you ask me that?" Oliver said.

"Your reaction when you saw the necklace…"

"It just wasn't what I'd expected," Oliver said. "I could see cuff links or something like that, but this is…different. I like it though." He stepped closer to her. "Did I thank you?" he asked.

Laurel knew his intention, and she felt a combination of butterflies and desire. She wanted to undo all of his shirt buttons and press her palms to his warm skin. He put his hands on her face, but she put her hands over them and moved them away. "Oliver, we can't keep doing this," she said.

"Right," Oliver said quietly, stepping back from her. He turned away. "I hope you and Tommy will be happy together," he said.

He walked out of the bedroom, and Laurel remained there, aching, feeling his pain mixing with hers in a toxic cocktail that she couldn't endure. Tears stung her eyes. "Oliver…" She found him at the closet pulling on his jacket, buttoning up his shirt, and sliding the tie under his collar. She stopped his hands before he could knot it.

"You're right about letting me go," Oliver said.

"Yes," Laurel said, "and I want to but I can't, not entirely." She closed the closet door and pulled him up against her. He hesitated a moment looking into her eyes before he kissed her firmly and deeply, with a passion she had never felt with Tommy and knew she never would.

After a few blissful moments Oliver broke off the kiss. "I have to go," he said, as he knotted his tie.

Laurel knew she could make him stay, and she wanted to. But she also understood that tonight wasn't the night for that, if there even could be one. "Merry Christmas, Oliver," she said.

Oliver smiled. "Merry Christmas, Laurel," he said. She stepped aside, and he got his coat from the closet.

"Are you sure you're OK to drive?" Laurel asked.

"Yes," Oliver said.

"Really?" Laurel asked.

"Really," Oliver said. "Thank you for the gift."

Laurel watched as he walked to the door and let himself out. Then she closed the closet door and leaned her back against it, closed her eyes, and sighed before heading back into the kitchen. She took the small box out of the drawer and opened it, revealing the gorgeous diamond on the ring inside. She took it out of the box and put it on her finger, then held it up the back of her hand and looked at it there. Her thoughts drifted to the arrowhead against Oliver's skin and the hot touch of his lips on hers. She slid the ring off and put it back in the box, well aware that she hadn't needed the extra time Tommy had given her to think things over. She put the box back into the drawer, picked up her glass of wine, and went back to the bedroom. She would need to deal with getting her car towed, and that would take her mind off of Oliver – at least for a little while.


	3. Chapter 3

Ghosts on a Snowy Night: Part 3

By Morganperidot

1.

"What is that?" John Diggle asked Oliver, indicating the hematite arrowhead pendant that hung against Oliver's bare chest.

Oliver had just pulled off his gray t-shirt to begin his workout routine sparring with Diggle in the basement warehouse space he used for his training and research as the Starling City archer. He looked down at the necklace; it was the one that Laurel had given to him as a gift on that snowy Christmas Eve when they had accidently hooked up the little Italian restaurant and somehow wound up at her apartment. He had worn that necklace every day since the day she had put it on him; it felt so right there, so good, and there wasn't much that felt like that since he had returned from the island. It also gave him the kind of real connection to Laurel that he lost so long ago – even though she had never left his heart. He hadn't shown the necklace to anyone, preferring to keep it between the two of them, but he knew he didn't have to hide things from Diggle. "It was a gift," Oliver said.

"Someone else knows about you being the archer?" Diggle asked.

"No, it was…a coincidence," Oliver said.

"Really?" Diggle asked. "Seems like a pretty big coincidence. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Oliver said with a certainty that he wasn't entirely sure he felt. After all, Laurel _had_ asked him about the 'vigilante' – presumably in response to his reaction to seeing the arrowhead. He had deflected the question and hadn't sensed that she knew it was a dodge, but something still troubled him. Even if Laurel had bought the gift years ago and didn't outright think he was the archer, Oliver had a feeling that at least subconsciously she had made the connection between them. And he wasn't sure where that might lead.

"Do you want to tell me what has you so distracted lately?" Diggle asked.

Oliver shook it off. "No," he said.

"You know, if you want me to have your back you shouldn't keep secrets from me that might blow up in our faces," Diggle said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Oliver said, and he launched into their training routine.

2.

An hour later, Oliver was sitting at his computer looking at an article on one of the names from his father's book. Joseph Brice was someone he vaguely remembered from his years before the island; Brice was one of his father's rich adversaries who had regularly used his position of power to steal, crush, and destroy others, including his own workers. It seemed from the articles that Oliver had been reading that Brice's business tactics hadn't changed – if anything they had gotten worse, with his bank balance continuing to increase while his employees struggled with barely subsistence-level wages at best or layoffs without severance at worst.

Oliver leaned back in his chair looked at the ceiling. He wondered how hypocritical he was being using his family's money as the leverage needed to free himself up to fix the bad situations of the downtrodden of Starling City. He used the playboy he once was as a mask to hide the other mask he wore as the archer…but wasn't he still part of the Queen family, and thus a one-percenter who would never really be in touch with rest of the city's residents?

Oliver sighed and looked back at the computer screen. He knew he had become something different on that island. He had lost the weak man he was and discovered his ultimate strengths. He had survived there due to his mental and physical fortitude, and those were things from inside him that the Queen money hadn't bought. So, although he had his rich family's name and the same possessions of the city's elite, but he was a different type of man entirely.

Oliver stood and got ready to prepare for battle.

3.

It was a moonless, starless night, but the archer had learned how to see well in the darkness. He found Brice and followed him until he was alone, and then the archer pinned him to a wall with two of his arrows and whispered dark threats in his ear. Finally, pulling the arrows out he growled, "Fix this by 10 am."

"Or what?" Brice stammered.

"Use your imagination," the archer said, and he disappeared into the night.

4.

When Oliver returned to the Queen mansion he was surprised to find Tommy's car parked outside the front door. Oliver parked his car to the side of Tommy's and got out; his wardrobe was back to the gray shirt and jeans. Tommy, who had been waiting in his car, got out as well, his blue suit looking rumpled. "What's happened?" Oliver said, walking over to him.

"Like you don't know," Tommy said.

Oliver smelled the alcohol when he was still several feet away. Whiskey, he thought. "Let's go inside and talk," Oliver said.

"Why?" Tommy said – a lot more loudly than necessary. "You have something to hide, Ollie? Like whatever tricks and lies you used to get back in her bed?"

Oliver's anger spiked, but he pushed it down. "If you're talking around Laurel, you've made a mistake," he said. "Now, let's…" Oliver dodged the punch that Tommy threw at him and then caught Tommy before he fell to the ground.

"Let me go, you bastard," Tommy said. Oliver released him, and he leaned against his car. "I know what you did," he said.

"Yeah, well you can tell me all about it while you're drying out inside," Oliver said. He yanked the keys out of the ignition of Tommy's car.

"You think you can just take everything I have?" Tommy said.

Oliver didn't respond. He headed toward the house and eventually heard Tommy stumble after him. Oliver led him through the mansion to a back room where they could talk without being overheard. He let Tommy go in first and then closed the door behind him. Then Oliver turned back to Tommy – and took a sucker punch to the face that sent him slamming back into the door. Way to let your guard down, Oliver thought; some superhero you are. "What is wrong with you?" Oliver asked. He rubbed his sore face and knew it was going to bruise.

"You aren't better than me!" Tommy shouted.

"When did I say I was?" Oliver asked. The world was still spinning, so he took a few steps to a chair and sat down. If Tommy was going to blindside him from a foot away, he could have at least pulled the punch, but from the way the blow had hurt – and his face still did – that hadn't been the case. Oliver felt adrenaline flooding his system, and he had to fight his instincts to beat Tommy to a bloody pulp.

"You came back different," Tommy said. "You pretend to be the same, but you aren't."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Oliver said. "You're not making any sense. We're friends, Tommy. I wouldn't have…"

"Don't lie to me!" Tommy shouted.

Oliver's muscles twitched for him to get up and fight. "You're drunk," he said. "Just sit down and talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"You took her from me," Tommy said with a sneer as he began pacing the room like a caged tiger. "You said you were cool with this, with what she and I were building together, but you never were. You were just plotting a way to convince her to fall back into bed with you."

"Laurel," Oliver said, and his thoughts drifted to the arrowhead that was lying against his chest.

"You never stopped wanting her," Tommy said. "Tell me the truth!"

Oliver took in a breath and released it. He remembered Laurel's hands on his face, her lips on his, just a few days ago. "Yes," he said.

"And you just couldn't accept that your time with her had passed," Tommy said. "You had to ruin things for her and me."

"I don't know what it is that you think I've done or she's done," Oliver said, "but it isn't true."

"No, the perfect Oliver Queen couldn't do anything…"

"I'm not perfect," Oliver said. "You know I'm as messed up as they come…"

"Then why does she keep picking you?" Tommy said. He grabbed a chair and threw it against the wall.

Oliver stood up. "What does that mean?" he asked.

"You know what…"

"No, I don't," Oliver said.

"She had to have told you…"

"You tell me," Oliver said.

"This," Tommy said, and he took something out of his pocket. Oliver stepped aside so it didn't hit him when Tommy threw it. Whatever it was hit the door with a ping and then bounced and landed on the floor near the chair where Oliver had been sitting. For one insane moment Oliver thought it was a grenade, even though he knew that couldn't be the case. He fought to stop himself from diving for cover and instead went toward where the object had come to rest and kneeled beside it. It was a diamond ring – an engagement ring. "I asked her on Christmas Eve," Tommy said. Oliver remembered that snowy night, the Italian restaurant, Laurel looking so beautiful, and how she had touched and kissed him. His heart ached sharply – for all of them.

Oliver picked up the ring and carried it back over to Tommy. "You might as well keep it," Tommy said. "You have everything else of mine."

"You're wrong about…"

"She asked for more time, and I thought, sure, what harm could that do?" Tommy said before laughing humorlessly. "But you just swooped right in there, didn't you, and found some way to take advantage of her at the last available second."

"I…"

"She told me she saw you Christmas Eve," Tommy said.

Oliver shook his head. "It was a coincidence…"

"Right," Tommy said. "Sure. And then it was just another coincidence that she gave that back to me." Tommy shook his head. "You made a mistake here, Ollie, and when she finds out that there is nothing inside of you but lies you are going to lose her again." He held out his hand. "Give me the car keys," he said.

"Get a cab," Oliver said, knowing it was too dangerous to let Tommy out on the road drunk and furious. Tommy stood his ground for a moment, and Oliver held his gaze. If Tommy was willing to face him in a fair fight – well he might as well give him one. Instead the moment passed, and Tommy walked to the door and slammed it as he left.

Oliver just stood there thinking. He knew that there was one thing Tommy was right about if nothing else: If he didn't tell Laurel the truth there wasn't going to be a future for them. And that was going to mean telling her about his secret life as the archer. Oliver put his hand over the pendant under his shirt. Could he take a leap of faith and trust her with that? Right then and there he didn't know.

5.

Oliver dreamed about the island. Not that he slept much – lying still on a bed made him feel vulnerable, and that made him anxious. Most nights he didn't sleep, but when he did he invariably dreamed about the island. In those dreams he was alone in that lush, vast nothingness, building his body and his archery skills. But more than dreaming about what he did there he dreamt about how he felt. They were dreams of loneliness and loss twisted with strength and courage, endless days and painful nights. And he woke soaked in sweat, a stranger in his house and his city, terrified and utterly alone.

6.

Early the next morning he was about head out when his cell phone rang. He could see from the caller ID that it was Laurel. "Hey, what's up?" he asked.

"Are you going to the Starling City Soiree?" she asked.

"The… what?" Oliver said.

"The New Year's Eve party downtown," Laurel said.

"Yes?" Oliver asked, unsure if that was the correct answer.

Laurel laughed. "OK, I'll see you there," she said, and the line went dead. Oliver stared at the phone for a moment. Had he just been asked out on a date?

The front door of the mansion opened, and Diggle walked in. "There you are," he said. "Did you hear?"

"If it's about the Starling City Soiree…"

"About Brice," Diggle said. "He offered to take back all the workers he laid off – and he's going to work without a salary for the next 3 years to better distribute the company funds."

"Sounds like a start," Oliver said.

"What happened to your face?" Diggle asked, referring to the bruise from Tommy's punch the previous night, which Oliver had noted was blossoming into a nice violet color.

"I got sucker punched," Oliver said.

"Looks nasty," Diggle said.

"Yeah, feels that way too," Oliver said. He heard footfalls on the staircase and turned to see his sister Thea coming down, uncharacteristically fully dressed in a purple sweater and pants on a Saturday morning. "Since when are you up so early on a weekend?" he asked.

"Thought I'd get an early start," she said. "You know, the early bird and all that?"

Oliver looked at Diggle who just nodded, and then followed Thea, who headed into the kitchen. "What's going on?" he asked as she looked in the refrigerator.

"I told you," Thea said without looking at him.

"Yeah, the early bird thing," Oliver said. "Not really believable." Thea took a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge. "You can talk to me, Thea," Oliver said. "I mean really talk to me. I'm here, and I'll listen to whatever it is, really listen. OK?"

"What happened to you?" Thea asked when she finally looked at him. "Were you in a fight?"

"No, it was pretty one-sided," Oliver said. "We were talking about you."

Thea rolled her eyes. "It's stupid," she said. "I had this dream, and I couldn't get back to sleep after it." She grabbed a box of cereal out of a cabinet and a bowl and spoon. She set the bowl on the counter and filled it with cereal, then took out a glass for the juice.

"Tell me about it," Oliver said, with the memory of his own dream still fresh in his mind.

"Really it was…"

"Tell me," Oliver said.

"OK," Thea said. "It didn't really have a plot or anything. It was just me, but that was what gave me this weird feeling. I mean it was only me – me at school and me home, but I was by myself and I knew there wasn't anyone else around – or anyone coming for that matter. It was just sort of…"

"Scary," Oliver said.

"Yeah," Thea said. "What's with that look, Ollie?"

He hesitated for a moment, going through all the excuses for not telling her about his dream. But the similarities were too strong for him to just let this slide. "Since I came back I've had trouble sleeping," he said. "If I do sleep, I have the same recurring dream about being alone on the island, and that dream leaves me lonely…and scared."

"Wow," Thea said. "I guess I never thought about that. I missed you so much, and since you've been back you've been distant a lot…"

"I don't want things to be like that," Oliver said.

"Me either," Thea said. She smiled, and then she surprised him by wrapping him in a big hug. "I really missed you," she said. "You know we can talk if you need to."

Oliver stepped back. "I'll take you up on that," he said. "And I want you to know that I'm here for you too. You're not alone anymore."

Thea smiled again. "Thanks," she said.

"No problem," Oliver said. He thought of something then. "I want you to know something else," he said. "Before he died Dad was thinking about you. He loved you very much."

"I miss him," Thea said.

"Me too," Oliver said. He looked at his watch. "I have to go," he said, "but let's have dinner together later, OK?"

"Sure," Thea said.

Oliver smiled, then turned and headed toward the front door. It felt like a few of the broken pieces inside of him were starting to find their way back together. The Starling City Soiree, he thought as he headed to the car. He hoped the actual event was better than the name it had been given. And he was glad to be able to hope again.


	4. Chapter 4

Ghosts on a Snowy Night: Part 4

By Morganperidot

1.

Laurel was having breakfast with her father at a diner. It was something they occasionally did to keep in touch about day-to-day things, especially when their jobs and other assorted craziness had kept them apart for awhile. The Acropolis Diner, with its soft blue-and-white motif and comfy booths had a relaxed atmosphere and waitresses and waiters who were nice in a way that indicated that they either genuinely liked their jobs or did a great job of pretending that was the case. It was still near freezing outside, and Laurel had indulged her craving for a short stack of pancakes drizzled with real maple syrup and a toasty cup of gourmet hazelnut coffee. Like usual, her father, Detective Quentin Lance, ordered scrambled eggs and plain black coffee.

That was her father, stable and solid. He had never approved of Laurel's relationship with Oliver or understood why she had wanted to spend time with the Queen heir when there were so many other men who were…more like him, men who would be suitable partners for a steady, boring future. Quentin had made it clear that he considered Oliver to be the kind of trouble that would wind up breaking Laurel's heart. And of course Oliver had done just that – had torn her heart apart – and ripped her sister away from her forever on top of that. Oliver had proved to be the kind of poison her father had said he was. So when he was lost at sea, drowned somewhere with her sister, Laurel hadn't shed any tears for him. Not to say that Oliver's 'death' didn't hurt her – it did – but the loss of her sister was so overwhelming, and her fury at him was so big, that she had refused to mourn him. It was easier to pretend that he had never existed at all.

But then Oliver returned to Starling City, looking not that much the worse for wear, and his behavior had seemed the same, an empty shell of a man, a playboy, picking up his life from where he had left off before the shipwreck. Yet every time Laurel was with Oliver she sensed that he was somehow different, that something was decidedly 'off' in the persona he was portraying. There was a new edge he was keeping hidden, one that was stronger and deeper than any that had been there before.

"What's on your mind?" Quentin asked, and Laurel realized that she had been absently staring out the window of the diner.

"Just a case I have coming up," Laurel said, not wanting to get into an argument with her father. "It involves a family that recently immigrated here. The father is accused of stealing from the company he worked for, but I'm pretty sure he's just being targeted as a scapegoat."

"You didn't look like you were thinking about work," Quentin said. "Are things really over with Tommy?"

"Yeah, that wasn't going to work out," Laurel said. "I just didn't feel like…we had a future together."

"Tell me this doesn't have anything to do with Oliver Queen," Quentin said, always the straight shooter – well, most of the time, anyway. "Things seemed to be going fine until he returned," he added.

"It had to do with Tommy and me," Laurel said. "Tommy wasn't the right one. It wouldn't have been fair to stay with him." She looked at her father. "But I do think it is time to ease up on Oliver a bit," she said. "He made some terrible mistakes, but he has suffered for them."

"Not enough, as far as I'm concerned," Quentin said. "It will never be enough. He took Sara from us. Don't make the mistake of letting down your guard around him, Laurel; he's still dangerous. If you let him into your life again, he will hurt you. You have to protect yourself."

Laurel was silent for a moment. She knew that her father would never understand the feelings for Oliver that were returning to her. It was best to stay silent about her feelings and the possibilities that they had reopened for the two of them. After all, those were possibilities that might never be fulfilled, and there was no reason to upset her father about something that might be nothing at all…even if she hoped it would. Laurel sighed. "I have to go," she said, and with a parting hug she left her father behind in the booth.

2.

Later that day at a ritzy dress shop, Laurel filled her dressing room with dresses that she tried on one after another. They were all beautiful and expensive…and not right, not the one she wanted to wear to the Starling City New Year's Eve soiree. She knew black was always supposed to be good, but it didn't seem right for this occasion. Blue was usually nice, but for this it was just too…blue. Then there was red, which was always enticing but in this case, perhaps a bit too…obvious. White…too pure; pink…too cute; brown…too boring; yellow…too pale; metallic…too shiny; print…just no.

There was one dress she had left to try on, one she had grabbed for the style rather than the color. It was silk chiffon, with one-shoulder strap and a slanted, close-fitting top that flowed into a loose, full-length, gently ruffled skirt. She liked it, but the style might be enough to make up for a color that didn't necessarily pop – a deep forest green. Laurel slipped into it and found that it hugged her body perfectly, and she closed her eyes as she thought of Oliver, his body pressed to hers, and then his lips, so soft, kissing her. Feeling light-headed, Laurel opened her eyes, and in the color of the dress she saw something else, the hood of the vigilante, his smooth, quick movements and the way he averted his face most of time, although there were moments when she had caught glimpses of his features hidden behind some dark make-up.

She looked at her bare throat and thought about the pendant she had gotten for Oliver, the arrowhead, purchased long ago before he had been shipwrecked and trapped on an island for years. She remembered the look on his face and his surprise at the gift. Why was he so surprised by it? It still seemed like his first reaction had been stronger than fit the situation.

And there was another question, one that seemed totally unrelated but that suddenly surfaced in her mind as though it belonged. Why did she feel so safe with that dangerous, hooded vigilante, like she knew she could trust him enough to meet with him alone in the dark on a rooftop, when anyone with sense would know that was an insanely reckless thing to do? How did she know that he would never harm her, and beyond that, how did she feel a connection with him when he was something so completely alien to her?

"Oliver," she said out loud, looking at the dress, that green that was perfect, for both of them. She would wear her hair up, with a necklace, the emerald pendant her mother had given her. No, she thought, not Oliver, it was ridiculous; it was impossible. And hadn't he denied it when she had brought it up on Christmas Eve? No…not so much denial as misdirection. And it added up, the timing, after he returned from the island. But could it possibly be Oliver with a bow and arrow, a modern-day American Robin Hood going up against the villains of Starling City? Really? Oliver?

She thought of the man in the hood, the glimpses she had seen, his voice. Surely she would have recognized Oliver's voice? Laurel shook her head. No, she thought. It wasn't Oliver. No matter how much he'd changed on that island, he wasn't running around Starling City with a quiver of arrows seeking justice for the downtrodden. That was beyond him; that was another person entirely. It had to be.

When Laurel brought her hands to the zipper to remove the dress she realized that they were shaking – not exactly from fear or concern but excitement, excitement that coursed through her body with the help of a hit of adrenaline. She sat down on the bench in the dressing room, still wearing the dress and took her cell phone out of her handbag.

Oliver answered on the second ring. "I haven't changed my mind about the soiree," he said. Laurel smiled but said nothing for a moment, just listened to his voice. "Laurel?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Laurel said, thinking to herself that she had to be having some sort of mental meltdown to be once again thinking that Oliver might be the vigilante.

"You sound strange," Oliver said. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Laurel said. "Of course I am. I just…I don't know. It's nothing."

Oliver was silent for a moment, and Laurel held on to that silence and the connection there that made it so much more than emptiness. She knew she could ask him the question, and he might even answer it, right then in that moment. Her heart was pounding, pushing her toward it…but she didn't do it. She didn't ask it, not for real, not yet. She needed to be with him, to look in his eyes and see it in him. "Laurel?" Oliver said.

"Yeah, I'm here," Laurel said. "I just wanted to check that you had proper attire for the party."

"I think I may have a suit or two," Oliver said.

"Right," Laurel said.

There was another brief pause, and Oliver said, "That's it?"

"Should there be something else?" Laurel asked.

"I guess not," Oliver said.

"So I'll see you tonight," Laurel said.

"Yeah," Oliver said. "I'll be one dressed like a rich playboy."

"I'm sure I'll find you," Laurel said. They said their good-byes, and Laurel ended the call, took off the dress, and put on the sweater and jeans she had worn into the store. She still needed to get shoes and maybe a bag to match. Laurel took her armful of dresses and hung the majority of them on the silver rod at the front of the dressing room area, then headed to a checkout with remaining green dress.

3.

The soiree was being held in the penthouse of the most expensive hotel in town, and Laurel made sure to arrive fashionably late. She looked around but didn't see Oliver; however, there were a lot of people there, so it was possible he was somewhere she couldn't spot him. She found a group of people she knew and was chatting with them when she finally caught a glimpse of him looking amazingly fine in an exquisitely tailored dark gray suit. He saw her as well and smiled…but didn't head in her direction. Instead he continued his tour of the party guests, smiling and shaking hands. Yeah, Oliver is the vigilante, Laurel thought as she watched him. How could she have seriously considered that? But then again, wasn't Batman secretly millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? Laurel laughed. Oliver was a lot of things, but he was no Batman.

For a while they circled each other in the crowd, chatting with acquaintances and business associates. Finally Laurel found a quiet corner of the room away from the rest of the people where she took out her phone and pretended to look through her emails. She felt him close to her before she saw him, before he touched her, his palm against the small of her back sending shivers through her body. "Oliver," she said, still facing away, but knowing with certainty that it was he.

"Laurel," he said, close to her, too close, and at the same time not close enough. She knew she could easily leave this place with him to find somewhere soft and dark where she would rediscover his body and his touch, his breath on her skin, his kiss, everywhere. But where would that lead? "Enjoying the party?" he asked.

"Yeah," Laurel said. She still hadn't met his gaze, and she wondered why she felt so out of control.

"You look beautiful," Oliver said. "This color is perfect for you."

"Thank you," Laurel said, and she looked at him then, in his eyes, and felt her desire for him spike to all-time high levels. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a faded bruise on his face and touched it lightly with her fingertips. "What happened?" she asked.

"Tommy," Oliver said. "He blamed me for you giving back his ring."

"He hit you?" Laurel asked. Tommy was no slouch, but anyone with the reflexes of the vigilante would be able to dodge any punch Tommy might throw – which was more proof that Oliver and the man in the hood weren't one and the same.

"Yeah," Oliver said, "but it wasn't a fair shot."

"He shouldn't have done that," Laurel said. "That was between him and me."

"He knew about Christmas Eve," Oliver said. "You told him we met."

"Yes," Laurel said.

"He thought you chose me over him," Oliver said.

Laurel sighed. "It wasn't like that," she said.

Oliver smiled. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special," he said.

Laurel laughed. "You don't need me for that," she said. And she thought again about the man in the hood, the vigilante who couldn't possibly be Oliver. "Oliver, answer a question for me," she said.

Oliver's smile slipped away as he waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he asked seriously, "What is the question?"

Before Laurel could answer, the countdown started to the New Year. She parted her lips to ask it anyway, but by then the countdown was at one, followed by a cacophony of music, horns, and people shouting "Happy New Year!" Then Oliver pulled her close to him, her body against his, his hands on her skin, and all of her thoughts dissolved as his lips met hers in a kiss that was hot, deep, urgent, and completely inappropriate for the venue. Laurel knew she should pull away from him, out of his warm and pleasantly crushing embrace, but she couldn't. He made her feel like no other man ever had.

When the gunshots sounded, Laurel thought it was just part of the celebration; it was Oliver who stiffened and withdrew from their make-out session a moment later. Stunned silence was quickly replaced by screaming; to their right people were backing away from the exit doors, and Laurel caught a glimpse of a man there holding a large gun that Laurel realized he had been firing at the ceiling. "Oh, God," she said. "That's the only way out."

"Maybe not," Oliver said quietly.

"What…"

"You have to trust me, Laurel," Oliver said.

The gunman was telling everyone to stay where they were and no one would get hurt. Somehow Laurel knew that was lie; someone was going to be hurt or dead before this thing ended. "What are you going to do?" Laurel asked.

"Behind us past the window, there's an emergency exit to a stairwell," Oliver said. "I can get some cops. The ones here don't seem to be doing much." Looking squarely in her eyes, Oliver added, "You have to decide right now if you can trust me." Laurel noticed that the last vestige of his playboy image had dropped away, and he was now projecting nothing but complete confidence.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked.

"Stay calm," Oliver said. "Join the crowd, but stay out of sight." When she continued to stare at him, he said "Do it now, and don't look back." After another second of hesitation, Laurel did as he said.

The gunman grabbed a young girl from among his captives and held her with his arm wrapped around her throat while he swung his gun back and forth. He was tormenting the girl and taunting the crowd, but as of yet he didn't seem interested in shooting anyone. Laurel looked over to where the emergency exit was, and she saw a dark figure step soundlessly into the room. A moment later there was a flash of movement through the air, and then the gunman dropped both the girl and the gun. The gunman started howling, and Laurel realized that the vigilante had fired an arrow right into the man's hand and now stood poised to fire another as the doors opened and police poured in. When Laurel looked from the police back to where the vigilante had been, he was gone.

Laurel's phone buzzed, and she looked at the text there. It was from Oliver. 'Meet me in the lobby', it said.

4.

Laurel found him sitting on one of the sofas. He was still dressed in the dark gray suit, but his tie was hanging loose. The first couple buttons of his shirt were open, enough for her to see the cord for the arrowhead pendant she had given him on Christmas Eve. Laurel sat down next to him.

"Are you OK?" Oliver asked.

"Yes," Laurel responded. "What did you do?"

"I got the police," Oliver said, but he didn't provide any further explanation.

"Yeah, they arrived shortly after the vigilante," Laurel said. "He pretty much had the situation defused before they came in."

"Everyone is OK?" Oliver asked.

"Yes," Laurel said, "maybe a bit traumatized, but unhurt."

Oliver was silent for several seconds, and Laurel couldn't imagine what his thoughts were. "Are you angry?" he asked.

"There are things you haven't told me," Laurel said. Oliver looked away from her gaze. "If you want to have a relationship with me, you are going to have to talk to me," she said. "You asked me to trust you, and I did. Now I need you to trust me."

"It isn't that easy," Oliver said.

"It isn't going to be easy," Laurel said. "You broke my heart twice, and my father will never forgive you for what happened to Sara. If you want me to forgive you, you are going to make an investment of yourself in me."

Oliver was silent for a nearly a minute. Laurel waited it out. Finally he looked at her. "OK," he said, "but not here."


	5. Chapter 5

Ghosts on a Snowy Night: Part 5

By Morganperidot

1.

Oliver drove his car with Laurel beside him in the passenger seat. It was snowing again, not a blizzard like on Christmas Eve, but enough that he had to keep the wipers going to have a clear view. He didn't remember it ever being so cold in Starling City around the holidays – or any other time for that matter.

Oliver and Laurel hadn't talked much since leaving the hotel where the interrupted New Year's Eve Starling City Soiree had been held. He had agreed to talk to her, but now that the intensity of the moment was eased he wasn't entirely sure what he should say. Should he admit to her that he is the archer? Should he tell her why and what happened on the island? He couldn't really imagine looking into her eyes and forming the words that would explain the tangled knot of weirdness his life had become. He didn't know if there were words for it at all. And he didn't know how she would react if he did find them.

He glanced at Laurel, who was looking out the windshield. The radio was playing a countdown of classic rock songs; the next one up was Purple Haze by Jimmy Hendrix. It should be green haze, Oliver thought, green like the arrows and the hood and Laurel's dress. He looked at her again, and this time she met his gaze. She looked amazing in that dress, more beautiful than he had ever seen her – but why had she picked that color? Was it on purpose to toy with him? Did she know or at least suspect the hooded man was him?

"Is everything OK?" Laurel asked.

"Yeah," Oliver said, looking back at the windshield.

"Where are we going?" Laurel asked.

The Batcave, Oliver thought. "The club," he said.

"You and Tommy did a good job with that place," Laurel said.

"Thanks," Oliver replied. "Tommy arranged most of the set up; turns out he's good at that."

Laurel was silent for a moment, and Oliver waited it out as a Doors song came on the radio, Light My Fire. "Do you think the two of you will be able to be friends again?" Laurel finally asked.

Oliver sighed, thinking about his confrontation with Tommy at the Queen mansion and how badly that had ended. "I think that's up to him," he said.

"I never wanted to come between you," Laurel said. "When he and I became involved…"

"You don't have to explain that," Oliver said. He really didn't want her to explain it.

"It's just that I never really understood how jealous he is of you," Laurel said.

Neither did I, Oliver thought. "He shouldn't be," Oliver said.

They were silent the remaining short distance to the parking lot of the club. Oliver pulled into his owner's spot at the back of the building, and then they got out and went inside, Oliver unlocking the door and holding it while Laurel went in, then closing and locking it again after he entered. The place was dark and chilly; it hadn't been open between Christmas and New Year's, so the heat had been turned down. He went to the thermostat and turned it up, then reached for the light switches.

"Don't flip them all," Laurel said. "The moonlight through the windows is kind of nice."

To Oliver she looked even more lovely than usual in that silvery light, like a fairy or a goddess. He flipped just the lights for the bar area. He was going to need a drink for this – whatever it might be – or maybe two. "If it's too cold we can go somewhere else," he said.

"No, it's OK," Laurel said.

Oliver glanced over at the bar, but for a moment neither of them moved from where they were. Oliver felt like if they did, if they went over there and did this, things were never going to be the same. He was terrified of that and what it would mean, and he had a feeling she might be too. He wondered if he should just take her home.

And then Laurel started walking in the direction of the bar. Oliver watched her for a moment, and then he released the breath he had been holding before heading that way as well.

Laurel sat on one of the bar stools, and Oliver went behind the bar. "What can I get for you?" he asked.

"You used to make an incredible dirty martini," Laurel said.

Oliver smiled. "I think I can manage that," he said. He turned around and looked at the bottles. "Gin or vodka?"

"Gin," Laurel said. "Stirred not shaken."

"James Bond is somewhere shaking his head," Oliver said, admiring the more classic martini request. He gathered the gin, vermouth, and olive brine and combined them in their proper proportions over ice before stirring and then straining into a martini glass. He added a couple olives skewered on a plastic sword. Laurel sipped while Oliver made another for himself. "How is it?" Oliver asked when he'd finished making the second drink.

"Not bad," Laurel said.

"That's some lukewarm praise," Oliver teased.

Laurel laughed. "It's truly awesome," she said.

"That's better," Oliver said. He slid his glass across the bar and then walked around to the stool to Laurel's right and sat down. He picked up his glass and lifted it toward her. "Happy New Year," he said.

Laurel clinked her glass with his. "Happy New Year," she said. They both sipped their drinks, and Oliver looked deep into her eyes, then set his glass aside. Laurel set hers on the bar as well, and a moment later their lips met in a tender kiss. Oliver closed his eyes and let the warmth of the moment drift over him – until Laurel withdrew, and he had to reopen his eyes to the real world. "We need to talk," she said.

"We don't have to," Oliver said, taking one last stab at avoiding what had begun to seem inevitable. Laurel looked away, and he knew he could escape, slip off into the shadows and hide in the basement, under the hood. He could be free, and he could be alone. He could lose her forever. Oliver took the plastic sword out of his drink and ate the olives in silence.

Laurel looked back at him. "I don't think there is a we," she said. She stood. "Thank you for the drink," she added, then she stood and started to walk away.

"It started after the shipwreck, in the lifeboat," Oliver said. Laurel stopped but didn't turn back. "My father insisted that I survive," he said. "He had a mission for me, and he pulled out all the stops to ensure that I would be able to do that."

Laurel turned. "What did he do?" she asked.

"He gave me a book with a list of names of the people who have wronged Starling City," Oliver said. "And he put a gun to his head and killed himself." He could still see it so clearly in his mind, an image that didn't fade, his father's death playing over and over like some terrible film caught in an endless loop.

"My God, Oliver," Laurel said. "I had no idea…"

"I should have died," Oliver said, "in that water, on that boat, on that God-forsaken island – there were so many opportunities. And I was so weak – I shouldn't have survived."

Laurel walked back toward him. "Don't…"

"I broke," Oliver said. "What was Oliver Queen…broke. If that was all I was I would have never made it." His memory flashed with images of the arrow in his flesh, the torture, coming so close to death that he could taste it on his lips, but he held those images at bay; he couldn't let them pull him under, not now. "The man that left that island, the one who came back here, was different than the one that left, entirely different, rebuilt on that island from broken pieces and nightmares and memories that will never go away…"

"Take a breath," Laurel said, close now, but he didn't look at her.

"You don't know me," Oliver said. "You don't know what I am now."

"Look at me," Laurel said softly. He didn't want to, but he did. And what he saw in her eyes wasn't the shock or pity he expected; it was something else, something…stronger. "I may not know everything about you," she said, "but I know you." Her words reached inside him, all the way inside, touching whatever tiny bit of humanity still existed there. He stood up and took her in his arms and held her against him. "You can tell me," Laurel said. After a moment she took a step back and looked into his eyes. "I think subconsciously I've known from the first time I saw him," she said.

"You can't tell anyone," Oliver said. "Your father…"

"This is just us," Laurel said. "Just you and me."

Oliver took in a breath and released it."It's me," he said. "I'm the vigilante."

"Wow," Laurel said.

"Yeah," Oliver said.

"How did you…learn to do all that?" Laurel asked. "I don't remember you ever mentioning archery."

"It was never really one of my interests," Oliver said. He hesitated a moment, then said, "You aren't shocked…or horrified by this?"

Laurel laughed. "Actually, somehow it all makes sense," she said.

"It makes sense that rich playboy Oliver Queen dresses up in a green hoodie and shoots arrows at people?" Oliver said.

Laurel smiled. "No, that's pretty ridiculous," she said.

"Thanks," Oliver said. He walked back to the bar and picked up his drink. "So people either think I'm a killer or a joke," he said. He finished off the martini.

"Or a hero," Laurel said, "sort of a superhero even."

Oliver looked away, embarrassed. "I'm no superhero," he said.

"Well, the whole mysterious, hooded archer thing is very sexy," Laurel said.

Oliver looked back at her. "That's a thing?" he said.

"It's your thing," Laurel said. "And it is very sexy. Don't ever tell Tommy this, but there were times when I was with him when I was thinking about the vigilante."

"With him?" Oliver said, clarifying not the meaning but the timing.

"Yes," Laurel said. "I would think about being with you." She reached inside his coat and touched the arrowhead pendant she had given him, her fingers grazing his skin and sending electric pulses of desire throughout his body.

"Me as the vigilante?" Oliver asked, placing his hands on her, beneath her coat, touching her body, as he stepped in closer, drawn to her like he had never been drawn to another woman.

"Just you," Laurel said. Their lips met in a full, passionate kiss, and Oliver let himself fall into it, deep, releasing himself from the death grip of pain and anger that had a choke hold on him since he returned from the island. "Come home with me?" Laurel whispered in his ear.

"Yes," Oliver replied simply, and he followed her to the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Ghosts on a Snowy Night: Part 6

By Morganperidot

1.

Laurel woke on the bed in her apartment. She stretched and smiled, feeling good – probably the best she had felt since Sarah's death. She had never thought reconciling and reconnecting with Oliver – letting all of the walls between them drop – would ever be a possibility, despite her lingering feelings for him. He had seemed lost to her in the same way that Sarah was, not only when he was presumed dead, but also when he returned. What they had initially shared was unsalvageable, broken beyond repair by his betrayal with Sarah. But as time passed since his return, she had come to see that everything was changed because he had changed; he had become someone else, something else, and the bricks started fall out of the walls between them until those walls finally collapsed altogether. And Laurel had found that she could touch Oliver, really reach out and feel him, this new him, and everything had started to fit back into place for them.

Laurel slid her hand across the bed to the spot where he had been sleeping. It was still warm; he hadn't been gone long. She rolled over onto her stomach and laid her head on the pillow he had used. Oliver, she thought. His kiss, his touch, his body…like everything else about him, they were the same as before the shipwreck – and yet somehow different and so much better. Being with him had taken her breath away. And that was something she would have never said about Tommy or any other man, including Oliver himself.

She didn't hear Oliver enter the room, but she felt him sit on the now vacant right side of the bed. He moved the sheet down from her bare shoulder and kissed it. "Come back to bed," Laurel said into the pillow.

"You're on my side," Oliver said, his tone soft and sexy.

Laurel turned over and looked at him. "You can have mine," she said. Oliver smiled, but he didn't take the bait. Instead he continued sitting there, shirtless in gray suit pants – a look that he was somehow able to pull off. "You look better in jeans," she said.

"Yeah?" Oliver said. "You don't like my power suits?"

Laurel rolled her eyes. "You look incredible in everything," she said. "Including the hood."

The look in Oliver's eyes darkened a bit at the reference to the vigilante archer, but he didn't look away from her. "We should talk about that," he said.

"Sure," Laurel said. "As long you aren't going to backtrack and tell me it isn't really true."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Would that have worked?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Laurel said.

"I didn't think so," Oliver said. "So, how about we have some breakfast and talk? Do you still like your eggs scrambled?"

She did, but what Laurel didn't like was the idea that his tone now suggested – that he might start dodging and playing her. She sat up with the sheet wrapped around her. "We can talk about it right now," she said. "You opened up to me last night at the club. I don't want you to start backing away from that."

"Do I look like I'm backing away?" Oliver asked. "I'm right here."

"I want you to tell me more," Laurel said. "About the island and…"

"I will," Oliver said. "I promise I will. But right now I'd like to have some eggs, and maybe a cup of coffee. Do you mind if I use your kitchen?"

"No, go ahead," Laurel said. Oliver walked toward the doorway of the bedroom, and Laurel knew she had to ask the thing that was the most troubling to her. "Oliver," she said. He turned, and she saw both the scars and his amazingly ripped body, and she remembered how it felt to have him next to her, so warm and gentle and confident. "Do you regret telling me about being the vigilante?" she asked.

He held her gaze with his focused blue eyes for a moment, and then said, "No."

"You're sure?" Laurel asked.

Oliver smiled, and Laurel felt the tightness in her chest loosen. "Yeah," he said. "I'm sure. Can we have some breakfast now?"

"Yeah," Laurel said. "I'll be out in a few minutes." She went into the bathroom and took a quick hot shower, going over in her mind the events of the previous evening – New Year's Eve and early New Year's Day – including the midnight kiss at the soiree, the gunman and the appearance of the vigilante, Oliver's secrets revealed at the club, and then coming back to her place to explore their mutual desire physically. And now…what? Laurel wondered. It was a new day in a new year, and where did they go from that? Laurel knew that she should be anxious and troubled about how things stood, but she really wasn't. She was more interested in exploring where they were than pushing too hard to make things more – or less – too soon. She smiled as she toweled off and put on a soft, fuzzy pink robe. Exploring all of Oliver's mysteries could be very interesting indeed, she thought.

Oliver was putting plates of food on the table when Laurel walked into the dining area; the plates were heaped with eggs, toast, and fruit. There was also steaming hot coffee that had a slight vanilla aroma. "Your phone rang," he said as Laurel sat at the table in front of one of the plates. Oliver sat by the other plate.

"Did you see who it was?" Laurel asked.

"Would I spy on your phone call?" Oliver asked.

Laurel smiled and rephrased the question. "Who was it?" she asked.

"Your father," Oliver said.

Laurel's smile faded, and she stood. "He's in the office today," she said. "I should probably…"

"After breakfast," Oliver said.

"It may be about that gunman last night…"

"It may be about archer," Oliver said. Laurel looked into his steady blue eyes for a moment, and then sat down again. He lifted his fork and then looked back at her. "There's only one thing I ask…"

"I won't tell him your secret," Laurel said.

"It may be tempting," Oliver said. "I've wanted to throw it in his face a few times myself."

"He won't hear it from me," Laurel said. "I promise you that."

"It's not that…"

"It's OK," Laurel said. "I understand."

"You're making this surprisingly easy for me," Oliver said.

"You can try thank you," Laurel said.

Oliver smiled. "Thank you," he said.

They ate breakfast in pleasant silence. Laurel didn't think her father's call was about the vigilante. It was most likely about her and Oliver last night at the Starling City Soiree. Someone her father knew had to have seen them kissing and told him – and at best he was taking the news very badly. "What about us?" Laurel asked.

Oliver set down his fork. "What about us?" he asked.

"How do you feel about me telling my father about us?" Laurel asked.

Oliver leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I think he's not going to like it," he said. "Maybe we should hold off on that for a while?"

"Like until you lose interest?" Laurel said. She stood up and picked up her plate, then took it into the kitchen. She heard Oliver follow with his own plate.

"I didn't mean that," Oliver said. "That won't happen."

"It happened the last time," Laurel said. She rinsed her plate off in the sink before putting it in her dishwasher.

"I never lost interest in you," Oliver said with certainty. He set his plate on the kitchen counter.

Laurel turned to face him. They had never really had this out, and it was as good a time as any. "Right," she said. "You just dropped me for my sister."

Oliver took a step closer to her, and Laurel fought to keep her feelings for him in check. "I was a different man then," he said quietly. He placed his hands on her waist. "I was a weaker man. I was afraid of what I was feeling for you, what it would mean to commit to you. I couldn't do that. I wasn't able to do it. So instead I made a terrible mistake, and I did the one thing that I knew would allow me to escape…"

"Escape?" Laurel said. "You slept with my sister to escape me?"

"No, it wasn't that simple…"

"It was," Laurel said, pressing him away from her. "Oliver, I think…"

"I never stopped loving you," Oliver said. "It wasn't you I wanted to escape; it was me. I was trying to escape the part of me that was growing up and building a future with you." He stepped back from her. "But I never really let go," he said. Laurel leaned back against the sink, waiting it out. "Even after the wreck, on the island, I held onto you," Oliver said. "I had a picture of you that I looked at every day..."

"You did?" Laurel asked.

"You were with me every day," Oliver said. "You were part of why I survived, the largest part. The dream of seeing you again kept me going and helped me change who I was." He sighed. "All I'm saying is that it may be better to ease people like your father and Tommy into this rather than just dropping it on them," he said.

"I don't think they are ever going to be able to accept it," Laurel said. She walked over to him. "It's a lot for me to process," she said.

Oliver was about to respond when his cell phone started ringing. He went to the sofa where he had tossed it the previous evening and looked at the screen. "Looks like you'll have time to do that," he said, shutting off the ringer.

"Duty calls?" Laurel asked as joined him beside the sofa.

"Yeah, there's something I need to take care of," Oliver said. He started to pick up his clothes, which were lying around the room.

"Can I ask who was on the phone?" Laurel asked.

"You can ask…"

"But you aren't going to tell me," Laurel said.

Oliver was pulling on his socks. "I think that…"

"It's OK, Ollie," Laurel said.

"Yeah?" Oliver said.

"Yeah," Laurel said. "I don't need to know everything." She smiled. "I would like to see the hood and arrows though, up close, with you."

"I think we can arrange that," Oliver said. When he was dressed, he walked over to her and looked into her eyes. "Thank you for everything."

Laurel laughed. "Quite a start to the new year," she said.

2.

Laurel headed to her father's desk at the police station. It was New Year's Day, and the place was empty except for the skeleton crew that was required to be there. As the rooms were nearly silent, she could hear her own footsteps as she walked, even in the sneakers she wore with her jeans, green sweater, and coat. Quentin Lance didn't look up as she approached him; he just kept his gaze on the papers he was reading. Finally Laurel said, "You wanted to see me?"

"Did you kiss the man who murdered your sister?" Quentin asked without looking at her.

Laurel was shocked for a moment by the ferocity of her father's voice. "Oliver…"

"Queen should be dead," Quentin said. "His body should have rotted at the bottom of the ocean or on some island. He shouldn't be allowed to be back here living his life like my daughter, your sister, isn't dead…"

"He isn't," Laurel said.

"Don't defend him to me," Quentin said. "His life is blasphemy. His very existence…"

"I don't want to hear this," Laurel said. "You've never been able to see any good in him."

"Good?" Quentin said. "How can you even suggest that he could be that? Has he managed to brainwash you again?" Laurel turned away, trying to hold her anger at bay. "Were you kissing that monster?" he asked.

Laurel looked back at him. "Did you have someone spying on me?" she shot back.

"There were people at that party last night who saw you," Quentin said. "They saw you sneak off to some dark corner with that bastard…"

"And then they ran to tell my father what I was doing?" Laurel said. "I'm not a teenager. I'm a grown woman, and if I'm kissing Tommy or Oliver or the Starling City vigilante, that is no one's business but mine."

"Tommy told me you were falling for him again, but I said no, my girl is smarter than that," Quentin said.

"You're unbelievable," Laurel said.

"You are going to stay away from Oliver Queen," Quentin said.

"Or what?" Laurel said. "You'll send me to my room and ground me for a week?" She shook her head and turned away again.

"Maybe I can't do that," Quentin said, his voice taking on an even darker tone. "But he's another matter. God knows he has payback coming."

Laurel's blood ran cold. She thought of the scars on Oliver's body and the psychological wounds that went much deeper. She thought of the archer, his presence, so dark and tormented. And she thought of the warmth of Oliver, so open and vulnerable beside her in bed. "Stay away from Oliver Queen," she said to her father, "or I promise that you will lose me too." And she walked away without looking back.


	7. Chapter 7

Ghosts on a Snowy Night: Part 7

By Morganperidot

1.

When Oliver walked into his alter ego's secret lair beneath his club Verdant, Diggle was seated at one of the computers looking at a video of their latest target from the list of names. "Do you have his location?" Oliver asked, as he went past his friend and over to his bow and arrows and the green hood he wore to use them.

"Happy New Year to you, too, Oliver," Diggle said with more than hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Oliver turned. "Right, Happy New Year," he said, remembering that it was New Year's Day. Somehow when he was in archer mode it didn't seem like normal timelines and pleasantries should apply. "Do you have a location on Cyprus White?" he rephrased, hoping to cut through the small talk to the information on Starling City's high-profile and thoroughly corrupt union boss.

"No, I just called you to enjoy your holiday cheer," Diggle said, locking his gaze with Oliver's. "So, what's your problem?"

Oliver sighed. He had been having breakfast with Laurel…after having an intimate reunion with her…after admitting to her that he is the vigilante. But was this the right moment to get into all of that with Diggle? He considered it for a few seconds, and then he said, "Later. We have business to take care of first."

"So it's something personal," Diggle said, before adding, "Queen family personal or Oliver Queen personal?"

"Right now it's mind-your-own-business personal," Oliver said. "Now give me White's location before I put an arrow in you."

Diggle smiled. "Woman personal," he said. "Got it."

2.

Oliver moved quickly and silently through the cold winter shadows. It was snowing again, and it seemed like the coldest winter Oliver could remember in Starling City. But then his seasonal memories were a bit askew since had spent several winters on the island.

Oliver pushed thoughts of the island out of his mind. He needed complete focus. He had learned about focus on the island, but now that was behind him. Now there was only him and the target, nothing more. He needed to narrow the world to just the two of them, and his instincts took over as he moved through the shadows of the parking ramp toward White's car, keeping out of sight as he moved closer, following White's path as the union boss made his way his own way through the lighted areas to the vehicle. White had two bodyguards with him, burly thugs who showed no awareness of Oliver's nearness. Oliver plucked them off with two quick arrows, and a moment later White turned, holding a gun in his shaking right hand.

"Cyprus White, you have failed this city," Oliver said, a third arrow strung in his bow.

White fired a shot in his direction, but it missed by some distance. He then made a for his car, but Oliver let loose his arrow, sending in near enough to White's right ear to draw blood but not cause any real damage to the man. White turned toward him. "What do you want from me?" he shouted.

"Give back the money you embezzled," Oliver said. "Resign from the union."

White laughed and spit in Oliver's direction. "I didn't take any money," he said.

"We both know that's a lie," Oliver said.

"So what are you going to do about it?" White said.

"Do you know what it's like to have an arrow slice into your ear?" Oliver asked, the tone of his voice low, dark, and cold. "Or your thieving fingers? Do you know what real pain is like?" He paused and strung another arrow. "I can show you. I will show you if you don't make this right."

"Screw you," White said. "I've been threatened by…"

Oliver let the arrow go, and it went straight into the flesh of White's right ear, this time tearing into flesh. White howled and collapsed against his car, and as sirens sounded nearby Oliver said, "Make this this right or you'll find out what it feels like to have one of those in a vital organ." He walked over to White and kicked the gun aside before picking up his arrows.

By the time the police arrived, he had disappeared into the night.

3.

"He's not going to do it," Diggle said.

Oliver was back in his street clothes – jeans and a blue shirt – washing the archer's make-up from his face in the lair, listening as his friend told him the obvious, and thinking again about Laurel. He dried his face, set the towel aside, and took his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He had four missed calls, all of them from Laurel. He shoved the phone back in his pocket. "So what should I have done?" Oliver asked. "Should I have executed him?"

Diggle rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying you should be thinking about the next step," he said. "But that doesn't seem to be what's really on your mind right now."

Oliver sighed. "We should go and get some food," he said. "I'm starving." He grabbed his coat.

"What's going on, Oliver?" Diggle asked. "What are you hiding? Who called you?"

"You're my friend, Diggle, and you're my partner in this," Oliver said. "But that doesn't give you the right to know everything in my life."

"It does if there is something you are keeping from me that can affect what we're doing here," Diggle said.

"It's not like that," Oliver said, but he knew that probably wasn't true. "Like you said before this is personal. It has to do with me as Oliver, not…"

"Who is she?" Diggle asked. "Is it Laurel?"

Oliver turned away for a moment and felt for the arrowhead pendant that Laurel had given him, which he had worn hanging against his chest ever since. "Yes," he said quietly. "It's Laurel." He took in a breath and let it out, steadying himself. He had a mental flash of that photograph of Laurel he'd had with him on the island, the one she had given him before he got on the ill-fated Queen's Gambit with her sister. And he felt that bond between them, the one that had been frayed but never completely broken – the one that was now strengthening again, finally, with all of the weaknesses and lies out of the way.

"You two are…"

"I told her," Oliver said. He looked back at Diggle.

"You what?" Diggle said. "You told her what?"

"I told her I'm the vigilante," Oliver said. "She already knew anyway. All I did was confirm it."

"And you didn't think this was something that I should have known about?" Diggle asked.

"It's my secret…"

"I'm involved in this, Oliver," Diggle said. "Felicity is involved in this."

"Involved in what?" Felicity Smoak asked as she strode over to where they stood facing each other. Oliver hadn't noticed her arrival in the lair but she was in the thick of things now, looking soft but prim in a pink blouse and gray pants, her hair back in its trademark ponytail. "From the looks on your faces I'm not sure I want any part of this," she added. "I'm guessing this doesn't have to do with White?" she said, when no one else had spoken.

"Oliver told Laurel Lance that he's the vigilante," Diggle said.

Felicity fidgeted with her glasses for a moment and then looked at Oliver. "How did that happen?" she asked.

"Laurel and I are back together," Oliver said.

"And this just came out as pillow talk?" Felicity said.

"It wasn't like that," Oliver said. "We were talking at Verdant last night after we left the soiree. She had seen me leave and the archer show up when I wasn't there. But she had suspected it before that. She…"

"Had a connection with the vigilante," Felicity said. "The same one she had with you."

"What does that mean?" Diggle said. "How could she know that…"

"It's a woman thing," Felicity said.

"Yes," Oliver said. "I still wasn't going to say anything, but I finally decided that I needed to. I needed her to know."

Diggle just shook his head. Felicity looked away from him went over to the computer screens. "I'll find out if there has been any change with White and the union," she said.

Oliver nodded and headed to the elevator. "Let me know if you hear anything," he said quietly. He glanced over at Diggle who was pretending to be busy with some files. Then the elevator came, and Oliver went up into the club.

4.

Outside the elevator Oliver pulled his phone out of his pocket and leaned against the wall. He called Laurel and waited with his eyes closed for her to answer. "Oliver?" she said. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Oliver said. "You?"

"It didn't go well with my father," Laurel said. "How was your vigilante thing?"

Oliver opened his eyes. "Could I meet you at your place?" he asked.

"OK," Laurel said. "A half hour?"

"Yeah," Oliver said. "Thanks."

"See you then," Laurel said.

Oliver ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. At the same moment the door of the club opened, and Quentin Lance walked in with two uniformed officers. Oliver headed over to them. "The club is closed for the holiday," he said.

"We have a special invitation," Lance said, and he held out a piece of paper to Oliver.

Oliver read through the search warrant. "Haven't we been through this already, Detective?" he said. "There are no drugs in this club. There are no drugs sold in this club. There never will be any drugs. Isn't that clear enough?"

"I wouldn't take your word for what the time is," Lance said. He looked at the officers. "Search the place," he said. "Everywhere."

When the officers had moved away, Oliver said, "Why don't we discuss what this is really about," he said.

"I don't want to discuss anything with you, Queen," Lance said. "I want you to stay away from my family. You killed one of my daughters. Don't think for a minute that I will allow your whirlwind of destruction to bring harm to the other one."

"I would never…"

"You're right about that," Lance said. "You will not ever." He turned and headed in the direction of one of the officers.

Oliver thought for a moment about a comeback to that pronouncement, but then he just let the moment pass. Instead he walked over to the bar, took out his phone, and hopped on a stool. Delayed by the cops, he texted. Then he set his phone on the bar and watched them tear up his club.

A few minutes later Lance's phone rang, and he stepped away to talk on it. Oliver couldn't hear what he was saying, but he didn't seem happy with the conversation. Finally he ended the call and walked over to where the officers were going through some cabinets. "We're done here," Lance said.

One of the officers faced him. "We still have…"

"We're leaving," Lance said. He glanced over at Oliver. "Don't leave town," he said.

Oliver smiled. "I won't," he said. "Next time stop by when the place is open. I'll comp drinks for our men in blue." Lance and his entourage didn't respond.

5.

Laurel answered the door in a teal t-shirt and jeans, her hair hanging loose. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," Oliver said. "You look beautiful."

Laurel laughed. "Like a model, I'm sure," she said. She stepped aside and then closed the door after him once he was inside.

When she turned back to him, Oliver pulled her into his arms. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he whispered in her ear, "every day, always." He kissed her lips passionately, holding her to him, before trailing kisses down her neck.

"You're in a good mood for someone who was shot at and raided tonight," Laurel said.

Oliver took a step back. "How do you know I was shot at?" he asked.

"I have police sources," Laurel said. "They tell me the vigilante was after union boss Cyprus White tonight – put an arrow through one of his ears. And they said White got off a shot at him."

"More like in the direction of him," Oliver said, walking over to the sofa. "It was a wild shot," he added, "not really anywhere near me."

"So there's no reason to worry about your safety," Laurel said, following him.

"I know what I'm doing," Oliver said.

"And you're careful when you're doing it?" Laurel asked.

"I do what I have to do," Oliver said.

"So you're not careful," Laurel said.

"I didn't say that," Oliver said. "I don't overthink things; I rely on my instincts."

"You certainly wouldn't want to think too much," Laurel said.

Oliver leaned against the end of the sofa and smiled. "I think you're twisting my words, counselor," he said.

"I think you're deliberately vague, Mr. Queen," Laurel said, moving in close to him. She reached beneath his shirt and pulled out the arrowhead pendant. "You know you don't have superpowers, right?" she said.

"I have certain talents," Oliver said, touching her hair and then letting his hand drop to her chest.

"With the bow," Laurel said, her hands sliding down his back to his rear before pressing herself against him. "And arrow," she added playfully, gently teasing him.

Oliver brought his hands back up to her face and kissed her again, firmly, his body heating up in her embrace like it never had with any other woman. But his thoughts were swirling in different directions, and he couldn't let himself be distracted this way. "We should talk about your father…"

"Later," Laurel said. "Right now there is just us, Ollie," she said. He parted his lips to say something, not sure what it was, but she spoke instead. "Let go for now," she said. "Just let it go."

He looked in her eyes, so close to him, and it was true – there was only them. He let the thoughts of Quentin Lance, Cyprus White, and Diggle and Felicity fade out of his mind. There would be time for all of that later. He took her hands in his and smiled before pulling her into another kiss.


End file.
